


Ryan Gave A Damn About The Weather

by Merkey666



Series: 2016 Au [3]
Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: How Do I Tag, I wrote this on a mix of rage and champagne, M/M, Poetry, Songfic, Space Pancakes, only sorta tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-29 09:47:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8484664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merkey666/pseuds/Merkey666
Summary: Just a little journey that helped Brendon get off the couch because he ran out of time for Ryan for a day. A little music helps everything.  I'm cheesy.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Fuck.

“Hey, Ryan…” Brendon put his head on Ryan’s shoulder and wrapped his arms around his hips. Ryan ignored him, humming to the radio as he washed the dishes. Brendon gave his hips a little squeeze and smiled wider, hoping to attract even a sliver of Ryan’s attention. 

“What is it, Brendon?” Ryan sighed, placing the squeaky clean dish in the drying rack. He picked up the next plate from the stack and began to rinse it under the warm water from the tap. Brendon snuggled closer. 

“I just wanted to… You know… spend some quality time with you tonight.” Brendon sent an unnoticed glance towards the ticking clock on the wall. It was more of a time bomb than a time keeper, thought Brendon hotly. 

“Mm,” Ryan hummed, not so much as even acknowledging his boyfriend. Brendon could not physically get any closer to Ryan at that moment, and so he shifted to his side, hoping to get a glance. No such luck. 

“Do you wanna watch a movie or something?” Brendon asked, handing him the next plate as Ryan settled the previous into the drying rack along with the first one. Ryan cracked his neck and looked out the window above the sink, thinking. 

“Actually, Brendon, I’m pretty tired. I think I’m just gonna go to bed. We had a late dinner and I’d rather hit the sack.” Ryan yawned apathetically. Brendon almost groaned but caught himself before he could make his situation any worse. 

“C’mon please? I want to spend some time with you. I don’t care if you fall asleep watching the movie. I’d just-“ he sighed. “Please?” Ryan pursed his lips and smiled sarcastically. 

“You should’ve last night.” Ryan dried his hands and shoved the towel into Brendon’s sweater pocket. He snapped his fingers at Crookshanks, signaling bed time. Brendon dropped the towel onto the counter and sighed, watching the cat he so foolishly adopted trot behind his boyfriend into their bedroom. The door shut and moments later, the lights switched off. Brendon sulked over to the couch and plopped down dramatically. He pinched his brow as his back began to ache once again. 

He should’ve made time for Ryan yesterday.

~

When Brendon awoke, bright and early the next morning, he already had a plan. The couch was hurting his back just as much as he was sure he was hurting the couch. It was starting to sag from where he slept each night for the past three days. Brendon sat up, kicking the soft yarn blanket back and rubbed his eyes. He’d forgotten the sun was a thing that happened, and had left the damned blinds up overnight, subsequently forcing his rude awakening at no less than five am.

He fumbled over to the coffee machine, sliding across the hardwood floors in his socks that Ryan refused to stop mocking him for. Brendon guarded his passion for sleeping socks with his life. The coffee machine whirred to life as the water heated. Brendon pulled out a mug from the cupboard, careful not to let it slam back, rattling all the other mugs like he’d done so many times before. Before he set the mug on the counter, he thought for a moment and decided that it wasn’t too early to do his first good deed. He reached back up, which wasn’t too difficult for a man of his age, and grabbed a second mug, just in case. He set one mug under the spigot of the machine, set the other on the counter, and turned away, resting his throbbing back against the cool counter top. Perhaps an Aspirin would go nicely with his morning coffee. The bitter smell of black coffee in the early hours wafted through the house, smelling oh so much sweeter than it would taste. A sweet discrepancy that Brendon just didn’t really mind. Starbucks could kiss his ass.

Apparently he was not the only one to feel slightly less resentful towards the day, as not moments after the first bitter sip of coffee had reached Brendon’s lips there was a soft whisper of movement from the bedroom. Brendon’s dark eyes slid up the door, as the handle began to turn like the hands of a clock. He watched the handle dip down, and the lock click. Out peeked Ryan’s head, hair ruffled and eyes even darker from the circles under them. His shirt dipped down low in the middle, exposing his chest and his skin that suddenly rippled with goosebumps from the chill in the air. 

Breaking the peace like a good house cat would, Crookshanks slipped in between Ryan’s legs and wandered out into the middle of the room. Settling in the warmest and sunniest spot on the floor, he licked his chops and purred himself back to sleep, whilst both boys watched, fixated. As his chest rose and fell, Brendon remembered his grand plan and took a slow sip of his coffee. It was the only sure way to prepare himself for going the extra mile that day.

“Good morning. Coffee?” he asked, setting Ryan’s cup in the space and pressing the button for another batch on their fancy little coffee maker. Ryan smiled, as warmly as the sun, but stood as cold as the morning air. 

“Yes please.” Ryan stepped delicately around the sleeping beauty on their floor and opened the fridge. As his eyes roamed the bare expanse, and Ryan’s coffee poured steadily a few feet away, Brendon spoke. His tongue moved, but his brain stayed asleep, the coffee not yet reaching that part of his body.

“I was thinking maybe we could go somewhere for breakfast. After coffee, of course. We could maybe go for brunch, if you want,” he suggested meekly. Ryan took a sniff of the milk and made a face. Cereal definitely wouldn’t be an option, as the two of them were not weak people who ate cereal with out milk. The bowl of fruit that sat in the middle of their dining room table was barer than the Sahara, after the fiasco with it being reduced to a foul smelling puddle within a few weeks. As much as Ryan probably wanted to decline Brendon, he really was at a lack of other options. 

“Why not,” he sighed, shutting the fridge and accepting the cup of coffee. Brendon beamed internally as he realized he’d subconsciously picked out Ryan’s favorite cup. He knew him all too well. 

While the two acted as though it were just another late fall morning, there were subtle-yet noticeable- changes in their routine. For one, the two took turns changing in their room, which was as uncomfortable as high school locker room showering. As the sun grew steadily steeper in the pale blue sky, Ryan’s hunger grew. His coffee cup was empty, and a second one would ruin his day considerably. So, he got up and slouched over to Brendon. Brendon sat in the chair next to the fire, the uncomfortable one that was only ever used when guests were around, or when Brendon wanted to drink bourbon in a suit by the fire and feel just the way he wanted his new music to sound. He’d written an entire song there, which Ryan thought nailed the aura spine tinglingly well. 

Ryan looked over to the couch instinctively, to see just why Brendon had chosen such an unfavorable spot when there was a perfectly comfy one just a few feet away. Crookshanks wasn’t basking in the warm glow projected onto the soft felt of the couch, and was in fact no where to be seen, but that left Ryan with a bigger mystery- Why was Brendon ignoring the couch like he was ignoring Brendon? He saw the rather unfortunate sag in the center, and realized it was simply because Ryan was ignoring him. He sighed uncomfortably, catching Brendon by surprise.

“You still wanna go?” he asked, setting his phone aside and leaning forward. The space between Ryan and Brendon had been hitting the hardest, and Brendon’s heart was almost bruised. Ryan nodded. Not eagerly, but not regrettably either. Just a plain old nod that represented everything they were going through at that moment. 

Brendon stretched as he stood, fists clenching in the air. He shook it off, trying not to mess up his neatly done hair too badly. He almost walked straight to the door, but caught himself, only one foot on the rug. He pivoted around, picked up his mug and carried it over to the sink. He swirled half a cup of water around the shiny interior, and set it back on the rack, deciding that was all the cleaning it needed. He motioned Ryan to the door, spinning his keys around his index finger and humming a positive tune. Ryan shook his head tiredly as he walked through the door Brendon held open for him.

"Aren't you going to bring your phone?" Ryan asked, eyes on the small black item that was left behind just like all the worries in the world. Brendon sniffed and dug his hands into his pockets.

"No need. I'd rather talk to you." Ryan smiled at him, feel the small draft rise up from under the door and whistle through his hair, just the same way Brendon would whistle as they walked down the streets.

There was no need for the car keys. It would’ve only taken up space in Brendon’s pocket, and it would’ve worsened the environment. The two walked, bones rattling in the early morning breeze that was icy like the sidewalk. It appeared too early in the year for this sort of weather, but neither seemed to mind. With the colors of the leaves dancing through the wind or resting on the ground, and the songs of geese flying away towards warmer lands overhead, the world was right where the two wanted it.

The small diner smelled like home cooked pancakes and overworked leather. The tired lady pouring coffee to all the early risers clearly wasn’t feeling the same way that Brendon and Ryan were, although it was doubted that Ryan and Brendon had stayed up all night, pouring coffee to all manners of strange that passed through the neon red Open sign out front. 

“Pancakes are good, but these pancakes are on their own plane of good,” Brendon murmured into the warm air that circulated like a friendly face at a party. There wasn’t a need to talk any louder than a whisper with one foot a half step up a stair well, because there wasn’t anyone to talk over or to hear your conversations. 

“Forget planes, these are space pancakes,” Ryan replied, drawing his finger over the patterns of the sticky menu. All of the sudden both spoke up.

“Space cakes.” They looked at each other, Brendon grinning over the thought of getting to enjoy his space cakes, and Ryan smiling at Brendon’s stupid grin and falling in love a little all over again.

~

“These are the- mmph- best fucking space fucking cakes fucking mmmmmm,” Brendon groaned, a plate and a half of pancakes down the pancake hole. Ryan just laughed, his plate clean as a whistle. Brendon waved to a waiter. 

“Can I get some m-“

“I think he’s had enough, thanks,” Ryan interjected, yanking Brendon’s hand down. The waiter smiled, holding back a laugh. Brendon burped loudly and quickly covered his mouth in embarrassment. After a few moments of deciding that what the lady working the register’s judgement shouldn’t matter to him, Brendon inflated back to his normal self, all jazzed up on coffee and space cakes. 

“Is it possible to get drunk of off space cakes?” he asked, pushing his plate away and staring at the last few bites in denial. Ryan shook his head, a pathetic smile on his sticky lips. 

“Are we really calling them space cakes now?” 

“Ryan, they’ve always been fucking space cakes. You know this.” Ryan laughed and leaned his head back against the red leather of the booth. The glass next to him fogged up every time he laughed, leaving a little impression of happiness for him to watch even after the laughter faded. A memory, but more like the polaroids you take but always seem to lose. 

“You used to be just like this,” Ryan whispered. His voice aimed at the glass and his eyes stared at the people slowly starting to start their day, even though Ryan had been up long before them. 

“I used to be insane, Ryan. But I ate about the same amount,” Brendon joked, and slapped his belly, a little overly enthusiastically. Ryan looked over at him, finger tips still drawing enchanted pictures on the hazy glass. The whole day had been enchanting so far.

“You still are insane.” Ryan smiled. Brendon muttered a “yeah” before disappearing into his own head where he could watch and re-watch his life on the big screen, just where he belonged.

~

Brendon led Ryan back into the house, which still felt about as cold as the moon, however, after the meal, the moon seemed not quite as bad. Brendon cranked up the heat anyway. 

Ryan fumbled with a log in the fireplace, sitting criss cross applesauce and poking the hearth with a large iron rod. The log burst into flame with the help of Brendon and his lighter, and soon the house was just as cozy as it could’ve been the previous night. Crookshanks dragged Brendon over to the kitchen, where he spent a little too much time staring at Ryan and not enough time actually feeding the cat. Ryan seemed to be doing nothing important, and appeared bordering on boredom. Brendon discretely strolled into the bedroom, in search of a tool that just might convince Ryan to let the heat ease up that cold shoulder of his. 

“Would you mind watching that movie with me now?” he called, emerging from the bedroom. Crookshanks’s feet made little noise as he trotted over to Ryan and leapt onto his lap, warmed by the fire. With Crookshanks in position, Ryan only had a few methods left he could use to escape without being downright rude. 

Brendon sashayed into the living room, his hands locked and hidden behind his back like he was handcuffed. In reality, Ryan felt he was far more handcuffed, and he was not in favor. He sat down slowly on the couch, keeping hands safely out of sight until necessary. Ryan pet Crookshanks, who was greedily lapping up both the affection and the sun beams. 

“Aladdin?” Brendon suggested, bringing his hands forward and revealing the weird crown he’d found on a park bench at three am. Ryan’s eyes sang the memory to Brendon who harmonized right on back. The two sat in perfect silence and harmony, reflecting back on how much shinier the little pink jewels were at three am, and how the dirt didn’t seem to matter because they were both covered in dirt and sweat all by themselves. It had been a wild ride for the tiara, the boys, and the sky, all working together and all so alone and free. And now, years later, they all still sang perfectly in tune.

Maybe the heat wasn’t quite warm enough yet, as Ryan looked away instead of suggestion a different movie, even if he doubted there was one.

“Brendon, I have work to do. I’m sorry.” he pushed Crookshanks off his lap and walked off, rubbing his fingers together, wanting to feel the fake silver shine of the crown’s plastic just one more time. But he really did have work to do, even if it was only for his own good. He promised to never let a good day go to waste by not getting written down, and today was a good exception. He flashed a neat and tidy smile at Brendon before stepping out the door.

He poured his emotions out into the car where he knew they couldn’t escape. He thought and thought on his way to any place that he felt could really explain how he felt, no matter where he looked. He spent an hour in the car, alone, and more than the average amount on gas, and despite all his searching, the only place he found himself back at was the diner. 

The little silver bell jingled as he stepped inside. The lady at the cash register gave him a weird look as he stepped inside, feeling the warm blast of space cakes. He took the same spot by the window, with the cracked and plastic-y red leather and the foggy windows that were forever imprinted with his breath, and the menu’s that made you wish you’d worn gloves. He looked at all these things, and then he looked outside at the quickly drying sidewalk and the cold, black road, and all the words and feelings he’d poured out in the car came flying back, free of the car’s containment. 

And so Ryan sat, by the window, making swirls and writing down phrases he liked. And he wrote, and wrote, and wrote, but there was something about the way the booth sounded that made it a little off. It easily could’ve been the weird disco-rock being played quietly all through out the restaurant, but Ryan was used to it. There were more people in the diner by that point, as the sun had released it’s full cat knock out powers to the world, and it was blazing down on the cold, drowsy Earth.

He watched the clouds weave patterns across the whole, wide sky, and not once did he find it nearly as intriguing as he had earlier. It seemed repeated, played out, even though none of the cloud combinations had ever been seen by anyone before. He snorted as a person across the street slipped and fell ass first into a puddle. The person was not pleased. And then Ryan wondered why the fuck the sun couldn’t have just mopped up the puddle. Suddenly the leaves weren’t as brilliant as they were earlier, the geese were just another sound effect, and the wind hurt his chapped lips. He didn’t get what was so enjoyable anymore. The table parallel to him received the space cakes they’d ordered fifteen minutes ago, and the smell of space cakes and Brendon’s morning smell which wasn’t all that great cam back. A river of emotions bowled him over and with out a word, he got up and left. 

Ryan didn’t come back to his home until the sun was threatening to make way for the not so sweet breeze. The breeze was bitter and stung, but not like early morning coffee. Like an insult no one meant to say, but got said and then the long unhappy break from the action that always followed. The part that stung was how it never seemed to ever truly get resolved. That was what stung. 

Ryan opened the white front door and shut it behind him quietly, happy to be free of the cold and let the sunset mellow in his bones. Brendon looked up, startled. He finished his small task of setting the table and wiped his hands on his pants.

“Ryan? Are you okay?” he asked worriedly. Ryan leaned against the door and sighed, keeping his eyes shut and only letting himself see the orange and red that the sunset made his eyelids seem. Brendon stepped closer, pulling his hair back with one hand.

“Ry?” he asked again. This time he responded.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Good enough. Just fine. Simplistic,” he sighed. Brendon knew what that meant. An over abundance of emotions that Ryan simply didn’t know what to do with. He couldn’t channel them out, and he wouldn’t let Brendon help him, so he was stuck until he got an idea. 

“I figured going out for food was more than enough for the day, so I made some dinner. Sorry to say, I don’t know what I made, I just kinda got up and cooked. I hope you like it. I call it ‘I don’t fucking know-ini.’” 

“C’mon,” he grabbed Ryan by the hand and pulled him over to the table, which was the neatest it had ever been. Before Ryan’s mood could catch back up with him, he looked down over the food.

“What the fuck did you make?” he snorted. But the clouds in the sky and the clouds in his mind soared forward and clouded all access to all the good things like Ryan’s happiness and the stars. 

“I think there’s eggplant in there somewhere, and there’s at least three boxes of pasta somewhere. You can check the recycling for conformation,” Brendon scoffed, poking the neat tray of red pasta and other things with a giant fork the size of his hand. 

“Only one way to find out!” He smiled, and Ryan wished he’d eaten more space cakes at the diner suddenly. 

~

“I don’t really know what the hell I just ate but I like it,” Ryan sighed, leaning back in his chair and nearly toppling over backwards. Brendon heaved immensely, trying to retain everything he just consumed. He hoped it would stay there. 

“I really have no idea. But if you liked it, I’ll make it any time you want.” Ryan looked away, trying to hide his face which was now the color he guessed the sunset would’ve been if the clouds weren’t too busy covering it up. Brendon looked over at him and quickly thought up a more poetic way to convey his message in hopes it would spark some sliver an idea for Ryan. That’s how he usually worked.

“I’ve got nothing in the pocket of my calendar but time for you, and that’s all I really want,” and with that, Brendon pulled the smoothest move he’d ever dreamed of pulling. As Ryan looked up, Brendon handed him a blood red rose.

“As red as the blood going through my heart that’s beating only for you.” And Ryan smiled the biggest smile he’d had the capability of giving for the first time in days. He took the rose and twisted it in between his lanky fingers and even smiled when it ripped a little line on the pad of his thumb. The little bead of blood was really more of a seed for an idea that made Ryan’s whole night. 

He looked up at Brendon with big round eyes, grinning proudly at the masterpiece he’d just laid out in perfect order in his brain. He knew truthfully it wasn’t laid out perfectly- there’d be things he’d want to change, but for the time being, the blood smeared on his thumb spoke for than the DNA it held. Brendon picked up the rose and stuck it between his teeth, cocking an eyebrow. 

“You have an idea or you still need some inspiration?” Brendon asked sincerely, although there was a hint of something that all the spices or leaves in the world couldn’t quite express. There was a sneaky quality to his words that was specifically human because that’s what they were- human. 

Ryan took the flower out from in between Brendon’s teeth with his baby soft finger’s, untouched by the harshness of the blade of the rose. Brendon released the stem like a dog dropping a toy in preparation for another round, but Ryan didn’t want to play. He had other plans. He grabbed his notebook and pen and walked off, into the bedroom and locked the door. Crookshanks took Ryan’s chair in a heartbeat.

~

Ryan left the bedroom with the music still etching itself onto his skin, bones, in his very blood. It was his now, and his it would stay. Another good day not put to waste,he thought, a smile returning to his face. He looked around the room for Brendon, but he was… gone. The dining table had been cleared, the dishes washed, Crookshanks fed, and the blinds drawn. 

Ryan walked into the living room and saw only what he wanted to, which was exactly what he saw. Brendon was laying on the couch, curled up next to Crookshanks with a blanket pulled around both of them, while Aladdin played on the tv. 

Ryan gasped as he felt another prick and looked down to see the rose still clutched in his bloody hand. He looked at the rose in a new way. He thought of the day in a new way. The coffee, the air, the space cakes, the sit in, and then the emptiness. It wasn’t the feeling that drifted for a few hours, no, it was Ryan who drifted. Then he drifted back- back to dinner, back to the rose, back to the song still blasting in his head, being sung by Brendon who’ll never sing the words back to him. Not with his voice, anyway.

Ryan shook the sleepy body awake, with electricity instead of coffee sparking the light in his eyes. The lightning in his eyes. Brendon looked up at Ryan, lightning crashing into ocean waves against Ryan’s thunder. 

“I know you did everything you did today just to make me let you off the couch,” Ryan muttered, sounding much less linguistically proficient out loud than he did in his head. 

“Not true. I did actually somewhat genuinely enjoy having breakfast with my actual literal authentic boyfriend,” Brendon shot back. Ryan laughed so loudly Crookshanks woke up and hissed at the both of them.

“I think that’s him saying you should let me back into our bed. I miss the way you smell,” Brendon said, rubbing his eyes and turning off the tv.

“That wasn’t very poetic.”

“I wasn’t trying to be.”

Crookshanks hissed once more, and whacked Brendon with his paw, claws out. Brendon, attempting to avoid being slashed and bleeding all over the couch, slid off at record pace. 

“I’m not poet, but-“

“If I let you come lay down with me, will you promise to sing the song I wrote, even if it can’t go on the album?” Ryan asked, dropping rose petals onto Brendon. “He loves me, he loves me not” flowing through his head.

“I promise.”

“Say it like a poet.”

“Ryan, I’m all out of poetry. Go write some of your own.”

“I already did!” Ryan waited for a response, but none came other than the steady rattly breathing of Crookshanks. 

“Fine, fucking fine!” Ryan helped Brendon up, and when he stood up, good and tall, their lips were no more than a gasp away. 

“I’ll sing until my lungs give out, because my heart will keep on singing,” Brendon muttered. Ryan cracked a smile as wide as his pride.

“There we go.” And then he pressed hips lips onto Brendon’s and tried not to sing while kissing, because that just really didn’t work. 

In between the sheets, drowsy but not quite asleep, both boys lay. The sky was completely black, the stairs only barely showing up on the charcoal canvas. And while Brendon looked out the window and thought about space pancakes, Ryan leaned forward and hummed.

_“I’ve got nothing on my calendar, your roses are red and yet I’m still blue. Roses as red as the blood going through my heart, that’s beating only for you.”_

Brendon’s heart sung louder than he ever could.


End file.
